


do not stand at my grave and weep

by writerforlife



Series: Falling Universe [3]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Gen, M/M, Recovery, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, hell everyone could use a hug in this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-09
Updated: 2018-10-09
Packaged: 2019-07-28 18:24:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16247282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writerforlife/pseuds/writerforlife
Summary: Set after THE THING ABOUT FALLINGAfter losing Steve, Bucky recovers and learns who he is without him.





	do not stand at my grave and weep

**Author's Note:**

> Set in the same universe as THE THING ABOUT FALLING. Reading the rest of the series is highly recommended for this story!

It was raining. Torrential. Pouring. Bucky’s hair had escaped from its neat bun and was plastered over his face; water soaked his dark suit, making it cling to his body. The dirt under his feet became mud, and even as he sank lower into it, he couldn’t bring himself to step out. 

Maybe the mud would rise and bury him next to Steve’s empty grave in a Brooklyn cemetery. 

There was nothing to bury. No body, no charred remains, not even his uniform. The government had petitioned to bury his shield in Arlington, but Tony had fought tooth and nail for a quiet, empty grave in Brooklyn. Next to his mother. 

Bucky knew how Steve must have felt after he fell off the train. 

He sensed two people approach him from behind and suppressed the urge to fight. One was Peter, with his tentative footsteps and twitchy mannerisms. The other was Tony. He pretended to be infallible, but Bucky heard him cry at night. He had no room to judge. 

“Pete, give us a moment?” Tony said. “Wait in the car?” 

Peter murmured something unintelligible, then left. Tony stood next to Bucky with his arms folded behind his back, sunglasses covering his eyes despite the gray sky. 

“What’s that poem?” Tony starts. “ _ Do not stand at my grave and weep _ .”

“ _ I am not there. I do not sleep _ ,” Bucky finishes. 

“Quill and the others are looking for his body.” Tony clears his throat, politely ignoring Bucky’s wince. A part of him wants to say that Steve will never be just a  _ body _ , an empty shell of everything he was, but he is. He’s dead. “They’ll bring him home.”

“Thank you.” He’s grateful for the rain. It hides the rivulets of tears carving lines down his hallowed face. Steve, his Steve, is dead. They’ll bring the body home. 

“You’re obviously welcome to stay as long as you like,” Tony says. “And if you want—”

“No.” Bucky knows what Tony’s going to offer. “That was his.”

“Okay.” Tony looks away. Bucky can tell that Tony thinks he isn’t watching, because something cracks. Grief, enough to fill the empty grave, pours out of him in waves as thick as the rain. Bucky thinks Tony needs something from him. He doesn’t know what.

Steve would’ve known.

 

#

 

Bucky stays in the tower.

He doesn’t know where else he would go.

He hasn’t figured out who he is without Steve by his side. 

Even  _ Before  _ (because he thinks as his life prior to the fall as Before, with an uppercase B, and everything that came next was After), it was Steve. Always Steve, with his parade of illnesses and stands of righteousness. He allowed himself to be swept away in it. 

He lays in bed and thinks, listening to the rain. He thinks that maybe he should run away without leaving a note and become another person. He thinks he should find someone who could erase his memories, because that would be less painful. He thinks that he could do some volunteer work or talk to Sam Wilson. He thinks that he hates Tony Stark and his kindness and guilty eyes. He thinks that this bed is too fucking big for one person and that he hates it because it feels like he’s in the middle of a goddamn ocean, drowning without anyone to save him. He thinks that he may have to save himself this time. 

He thinks that he’s cold. 

He doesn’t pull the blankets over his chest.

 

#

 

He and Tony don’t live together. They exist in the same space. Tony does things for him when he thinks Bucky won’t notice. Extra food set out on the countertop. More gym clothes than anyone could possibly wear. Punching bags. The sounds of rain playing even when it isn’t raining. Tony locks himself in his lab for most of the day, music blaring.

Bucky wants to say something to him.

He doesn’t know what.

 

#

 

“I still have the shield,” Tony had said a few days after Steve died, a few days before the funeral. “I know you like your Terminator gig, but the uniform—”

“Was his,” Bucky had said. “Don’t ask again.”

But once he had the thought, it was there. The world needed Captain America. They were reeling from the snap, reeling from the loss and regaining, reeling from Steve’s death. Captain America was a symbol of hope. 

“I understand,” Tony had said. “I don’t know if I could, either.”

But it wasn’t about Steve. Not really.

He didn’t know if he could handle people looking at him with hope rather than fear.

 

#

 

One night, Peter bursts through his door in the middle of the night.

“Something’s wrong with Mr. Stark,” he pants. “I didn’t know who else to get. I didn’t… the lab… he locked me out… crashes… he won’t—”

Bucky’s out of the bed and moving before Peter can stumble to the end of his sentence. He picks up pace as he turns corners, thinking of worst case scenarios. Peter’s behind him, and Bucky almosts wishes he wasn’t.

“Tony!” Bucky pounds on the lab door. No response. Only music. He tries the doorknob. Locked. He circles his metal arm once, then punches through the door. It collapses into the lab. Bucky wades through a sea of discarded mechanical parts and half-constructed suits to turn down the music. With the pounding gone, an eerie silence fills the room. Bucky surveys it, trying to draw a conclusion. Crushes energy drink cans. Empty whiskey bottles. An array of coffee-stained mugs. Caffeine gum wrappers. No food. 

He cautiously steps around a table, willing Peter not to follow. 

His breath catches in his throat.

Tony’s laying in a crumpled heap. Unmoving. Face pale and sweat-covered.

“Stay back,” Bucky snaps. He drops to his knees next to Tony and leans his ear next to his mouth. Still breathing. “Stark.” He taps the side of his face. “Tony, wake up.”

Nothing. 

He feels for a pulse and gets a thready, erratic beat. 

“Peter, some water?” he asks.

Tony stirs, curling into a ball. “Steve,” he murmurs. “Don’t.”

Bucky clenches his teeth, forcing a normal grip on the glass Peter hands him. He doesn’t want to know about Steve’s last moments. About the conversations they had on Vormir. He doesn’t want to know how the man he loved chose death. 

He tosses the water on Tony’s face. 

His eyes fly open. “Peter!” He scrambles into a sitting position and clutches Bucky’s arm. “Where’s Peter, where—”

“Here.” Peter drops to knees next to Tony, who blinks a few times at Bucky, and God, if that confused, what-went-wrong, glazed look wasn’t familiar. 

“Cool the glare,” Tony says. More like  _ croaks _ . 

“When’s the last time you drank water?” Bucky asks. 

Tony sinks back against the floor, closing his eyes. Bucky snaps in his face. 

“Drank anything without caffeine or alcohol?” he tries, shooting Peter a glance. 

“Mr. Stark,” Peter murmurs.

“Can’t remember,” Tony mutters. 

Bucky almost wants to send Peter away for the next one, because he knows it’s not going to be good. “Slept?”

“At least a few days.” Tony groans and rubs his hand over his eyes. “I can’t, Barnes.”

“Why not?”

“I keep  _ seeing  _ everything. Thanos. Peter. Steve.” He drags in a rattly breath. “He didn’t fight it. He could’ve killed me instead. It would’ve been better that way.”

Tony doesn’t notice, but Peter’s breath hitches as tears rise in his eyes. Bucky motions for the kid to leave, and surprisingly, he listens. Bucky sits cross-legged next to Tony.

“Steve made one rule. Right after he found me,” Bucky begins. Tony opens one bloodshot eye. “I wasn’t allowed to say I wished I was dead. I could think it, but I couldn’t say it out loud. Soon enough, I stopped thinking it.”

“What does this have to do with anything?” Tony says. 

“You have to stop wishing it was your empty grave. Especially when your kid’s right here. We’re all a little fucked up right now, Stark.” Bucky laughs roughly. “He doesn’t need to think about you being dead.”

“I’m supposed to be taking care of  _ you _ .” Tony screws his eyes shut again. Bucky wishes he’d just get it over with and cry. “I promised him I would.”

“We’re looking after each other. He’d want you to be okay, too.” Bucky hauls Tony to his feet. “You’re going to sleep. When you wake up, you’re going to eat a lot. Then, you’re going to find a good therapist.”

“You say the sweetest things.” Tony doesn’t protest, though, when Bucky lays him on the couch. Bucky watches him, and somehow, some uncertainty in him settles.

He’s Bucky Barnes.

He takes care of people. 

 

#

 

When a healthy glow has returned to Tony’s face, Bucky approaches him in the lab.

“I think I’m ready,” he says. “Do you have it still?”

A grin splits Tony’s face as he presses a button that causes a portion of the wall to turn. Bucky inhales. Steve’s shield rests on a pedestal, free of scratches and polished to perfection. The colors catch the light in a brilliant blaze of red and blue, and maybe, just  _ maybe _ , a part of Steve is still alive in this. Maybe he left this for Bucky. Wanted him to have it. 

Tony claps him on the shoulder. “I thought you’d never ask, Captain.”

**Author's Note:**

> Considering writing something about Peter next... would anyone be interested?


End file.
